Finding Home
by justcallmesmitty
Summary: [NOW COMPLETE!] AU: After the marriage treaty is re-negotiated between France and Scotland, Francis and Mary find themselves on a different path than either of them ever dared hope. Together they seek to establish their own understanding of "home." Diverges from end of 1x04, "Hearts and Minds." Francis/Mary, with appearances from just about everyone. Rated "T" just to be safe.
1. ONE: Walks in the Evening

**Author's Note:** While not necessary, I recommend first reading "This One Moment," which was designed as a preamble of sorts to this larger, multi-chapter story. That part lays the groundwork for tying the story into the initial canon before it jumps into an alternate reality here. This is definitely AU from here on out, though I will do my best to keep characters in line with their characterizations up through 1x04, which is where this story diverges from the show. As I've planned it, it should include 11-12 chapters in total. Please review - it is wonderful to hear from you!

**Disclaimer:** I do not own nor claim to own "Reign" or any of its characters. I just play with them. The storyline is mine because, well, thus far it hasn't lined up with the show and it came independently from my own imagination.

* * *

**ONE: Walks in the Evening**

The day had reached its close, the light fading more quickly into night as the seasons changed. Francis and Mary ambled slowly across the grounds, a guard following at a careful but respectful distance. Mary adjusted her shawl against the crisp autumn air before tucking her arm once more into the crook formed by Francis' elbow. He took care to rub her hand with his own, attempting to keep it warm against the night's chill.

It had been a week of quiet moments, of walks in the evening. Many hours had been spent discussing Mary's years at the convent and Francis' friendship with Bash, Mary's desire to return to Scotland and Francis' fondness for philosophy. They somehow managed to cover the years missed while Mary was kept safe in hiding.

The guard had been appointed to act as chaperone for the young dauphin and queen, and it had taken Francis everything within himself not to dismiss the man from his post. He desired a chance to take greater liberties with the beautiful young woman with whom he walked every day before the evening meal, but he resigned himself to the man's presence, knowing it was best to protect Mary's reputation in the hope that, someday soon, she might be his bride.

As the light disappeared, they wound their way back to the castle and to the meal where, on this particular night, King Henry had chosen to greet them upon their arrival.

"Ah, here you are, then! I would like to request the presence of you both in my chambers following the meal. There is something important that needs to be discussed. You may rejoin the evening's entertainments afterward."

"Of course, father," responded Francis, looking quickly to Mary for confirmation. "You will have our undivided attention after we eat."

Finding their seats, Mary stated softly, "I wonder what that was all about." Her face held a coy smile that went unnoticed by Francis as he turned to face her and reply. She had managed to keep at least one secret not yet discussed on their evening rambles.

"I suppose we will find out after supper. Let's eat, shall we?"

As the meal came to a close, Francis extracted himself from a conversation with one of the viscounts concerning Plato's understanding of fathers and their sons. He and Mary made their way to join his father in his chambers, as the king had requested.

The page announced their arrival and the door opened to reveal King Henry sitting with Mary's uncle, Claude de Guise. The fire glowed brightly in the fireplace, bathing the whole room in a warm light.

"Please, sit down, both of you," said the king from his chair. They each took seats on the couch, awaiting further instruction. Mary smiled, fairly certain of the reason they had been asked to join King Henry.

"As you are well-aware," King Henry spoke slowly and firmly, "we have finished re-negotiating the marriage treaty between our two nations." He looked at Mary's uncle, who nodded in acknowledgement.

"What you might not be so aware of, my son," he continued, looking in Francis' direction, "is that this treaty takes imminent effect now that you and Mary both are of age. This was not the case with the original treaty and it was therefore put off as you both grew."

The king shifted a bit as he announced this piece of information, which Francis understood to be the result of lingering uneasiness when it came to the Scottish alliance.

"What does that mean, father?" Francis questioned.

"It means," the king began, "that you and Mary will be wed on her sixteenth birthday, on December the eighth."

Francis' face registered some of the shock he felt inside. His father had finally set a date for the alliance to be finalized – a day in mere months! Still, he managed to maintain some composure, replying to his father with an affirmation of the arrangement while trying to keep his father from noticing his excitement.

"Of course, father. Will that be all? We would rather like to return to the festivities."

"Yes, Francis, that will be all. We will discuss this further in the morning. Enjoy the evening." The king nodded his head to acknowledge them as they each rose to leave, "Francis." Pause, nod. "Queen Mary."

Escaping the king's chambers, Francis and Mary nearly ran down the hall, peering around corners to see who was about. They weren't eager to return to the supper hall just yet. Francis pulled Mary into a small alcove, which provided an ideal spot for the two to talk without anyone being able to see them.

"You knew about this, didn't you?" Francis asked. Mary's smile widened as they stood facing each other.

"I don't know what you're talking about!" she teased, swatting him with one of her hands. "Although I do remember something being discussed by my uncle at one point or another … "

For the first time since she was freed from her engagement to Tomás, Francis pulled her to himself. He crushed his lips onto hers, losing himself for just a moment before pulling back enough to rest his forehead against hers.

"I don't care how good the news is! You cannot keep such things to yourself anymore, Mary." He paused, grasping the reality of what was to come. "You are going to be my wife! You cannot keep secrets from me if there is to be a chance for us to be more than our parents."

Pulling his head back further and smiling to make sure she knew he was only serious to a point, he wrapped his arms around her tiny waist and held her tightly.

"I understand completely," her voice whispered back. "No more secrets. But please know, Francis, we are already more than our parents."

They never returned to the festivities that night. Out of sight in the alcove, they enjoyed each other's company away from their usual chaperone. For the first time, they allowed their conversation to shift from what had already happened to what might await them in the future.

Before the hour grew too late, when others might have become frantic at their absence, Francis walked Mary to her rooms and bade her a good night's sleep, placing one last gentle kiss upon her forehead. He suspected neither of them would sleep much.

As they retired, Catherine sought for her husband, eventually finding him in his chambers with Claude de Guise and discussing the arrival of Mary's mother for the approaching wedding. Turning to the guest, she addressed him courteously:

"Claude! I did not realize you and Henry would be speaking together at such a late hour. I would love to have a moment with my husband before I retire to my own rooms. Do you mind?"

Claude rose to his feet, providing a swift bow. "Not at all, Queen Catherine. I shall see you both tomorrow."

He quickly exited the room, leaving the queen and king alone. Catherine turned toward Henry, sitting down demurely on the edge of the sofa Francis and Mary had shared earlier in the evening.

"Now, what is this I hear about a wedding?"


	2. TWO: Days of Waiting

**Author's Note:** Crazy episode last night, right? Goodness ... Grateful I started this before I saw it because it's all different from here! Here's chapter two. :)

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**TWO: Days of Waiting**

Two weeks had come and gone, and preparations were well underway for the swiftly approaching wedding. In those weeks, Francis and Mary had continued their walks in the evening before dinner and found themselves in a particular alcove more frequently without their guard as chaperone.

On this particular evening, following a rather explosive supper, they found themselves in Mary's rooms after the meal.

Settling herself onto the couch, Mary's face was full of confusion. As Francis sat down next to her, she turned to face him and asked, "Why does your mother hate me so?"

Francis was becoming accustomed to the sound of his own sighing. This had become a typical conversation for the two of them, ever since the wedding had been announced. He looked at her, shook his head somberly, and told her, as he had so many times, "I don't know, Mary. Do you want me to speak with her?"

"No," replied Mary, still trying to calm her anxieties. "I just thought she would have come around to liking me a bit by now. It never occurred to me that she would be fighting to postpone the wedding in the name of having strawberries and fresh flowers. She glared at me all through dinner and then picked that fight with your father! And I know your father, while allowing for our marriage to happen, is still a little uneasy about the alliance. I just-"

"Mary," Francis placed his hands onto her arms, just below her shoulders, "December will soon be here, and so will your mother. Let's hope she can rein in my mother and help things move forward. For tonight, can we just forget the whole day?" He rubbed his hands gently up and down on her arms, hoping it would help her relax from the stresses the past few weeks had brought her.

She looked at him, asking for just a little more with her eyes.

"You know what would help me relax?" Her eyes grew a bit mischievous with the question.

"What, _this_?" He asked in return, narrowing the gap between their faces and pulling her lips to his. She nodded into his kisses, starting to lean back onto the couch and pulling him down with her, but he wrested himself from her grasp.

"Mary, we can't do _that_." She groaned heartily as he pulled her back upright and into his arms. "Trust me, I want to - and desperately. But there are only a few more weeks and I will be yours forever. Surely, we can wait a few more weeks."

"Fifty days," she begrudged, pouting.

"I know," he teased lightly, gingerly tucking a loose piece of hair behind her ear as she settled in at his side.

"For tonight, why don't we play a game of chess or read a little to make sure you're calmer before you try to sleep? I don't want you having nightmares about my mother."

She agreed reluctantly and he stood to retrieve her copy of Virgil from a nearby table. Returning, he began reading from the place Aylee had last marked.

As she listened to the Latin words fall from Francis' lips, Mary's shoulders relaxed into the verbal rhythm. In time, her eyes began to flicker shut and her hearing of the words grew dim. All she remembered of what followed was the certain sensation of being carried and placed into her bed, a light kiss on her forehead and someone saying softly, "Goodnight, Mary."

* * *

The next morning, Mary was astonished to find herself waking in the same clothes she had worn the day before. A bit disoriented, she recalled what she could of the previous night as she readied herself for breakfast with her ladies.

A knock sounded on the door and she looked over to find Aylee peering in, looking to see if Mary was still in her rooms.

"Good morning, Mary. I trust you slept well?"

"Very well, Aylee. Thank you," Mary answered. She motioned to the laces on her back, "Can you help me with these?"

"Of course."

Aylee moved over and began pulling the laces tight, one by one until they were each in place. Though eager to hear what happened after the previous night's meal, she kept her curiosity to herself.

"Are the other girls ready for breakfast?" Mary inquired as Aylee inspected her attire for the day.

"Yes, they are waiting for us down the hall. Shall we go find them?"

* * *

As the girls finished breakfast, Francis appeared to gather Mary, much to her wonder.

"To what do I owe this welcome surprise?" She asked as he came nearer to her.

"I have pressing matters to discuss with you," he nodded at the ladies nearby. "I hope you don't mind if I steal your queen away for a few hours."

"Oh, please, take her! We're sick of her, to be honest!" Lola winked and enthusiastically motioned toward the door. The girls burst into laughter as a quizzical look appeared on Mary's face, questioning why her friends were so keen to be rid of her this particular morning.

"Well, then," said Francis, clearly amused and offering his arm, "shall we?"

Their unexpected morning walk led them to a stone bench in the eastern wing of the castle. Here, Francis paused and they both sat down. Mary was openly antsy, eager to know what was so important that it couldn't wait until the evening.

"My father called me into his chambers this morning," he began, taking his time and smiling as he watched her fidget. "He has brought to my attention that we need to settle on where we will live once we are married."

He watched Mary's eyes widen, the realization that they would actually live together appearing unmasked on her face. A small "oh" escaped her lips.

"What are our options?" Her voice was quiet, expectant.

"Well," he exhaled, "we have three, though I think I like one more than the others.

"The first and second are that we can remain in one set of our rooms. Personally, I don't want you to be subjected to my chambers. They are a bit draftier than other parts of the castle and I don't ever want you to wonder who else I have been there with." He gripped her hand tightly as he said this, trying to reassure her that his past was indeed to remain in the past and that she had nothing to worry over in that regard.

"Your rooms are an option, certainly, if you would like to stay, but they are a slight security risk because of that passageway. My father expressed particular concern over the passage, though it could be sealed off if requested."

Her head nodded, silently agreeing to the reasons against both of the first two options. "And what is the third option?"

"The third option," he started, excitement sparking in his eyes. "The third option is this eastern wing."

"The whole wing?" Her eyes betrayed her incredulity and matched his excitement.

"The whole wing," he assured her, pausing before he continued. "We would have multiple rooms for ourselves and your ladies if you would like and then maybe, someday, for children. My blade smith's things are already here, as you know, and you yourself spent time here as a child. It is one of the smaller wings, so my father was thinking it might be just right for the two of us. I rather like the idea of starting fresh together, don't you?"

The bright smile on her face alone was enough to confirm her answer.

"I will tell my father, then. He wants to begin preparing the rooms this week. Would you like to walk through them before I return you to your ladies?"

They set off to explore the wing, rooms both familiar and unfamiliar, dreaming of what the future held.

After Francis returned Mary to her own quarters, she went in search of her friends, who were nowhere to be found. Turning down one corridor and into the next, she happened upon Nostradamus, gazing out one of the hall's windows. His prophecy about the lion and the dragon came to the forefront of her mind and she was suddenly eager to ask him if he had seen anything else.

"Nostradamus!" The seer turned to face her. "Do you have a moment? I would like to ask you something."


	3. THREE: Revealing Moments

**Author's Note:** So, just in case you notice that something is different, I've done a slightly major stylistic overhaul by changing tenses (and I've revised the first two chapters for the sake of consistency). Though I went around and around on tense when drafting the first chapter, finally settling on present tense, I feel like some sane person has shaken me the past few days and said, "Why in the world did you do that? It don't make no sense!" (At least, that's how my husband would have phrased it.) Regardless, the details haven't changed - just the words and, hopefully, the way the story flows. I apologize if you find it tacky or whatever to re-release edited chapters after posting them, but I felt that I needed to for the integrity of the piece to remain intact and to continue through to its conclusion. Additionally, I initially thought of splitting this chapter into two sections, but I decided against it. Hopefully you won't find it too long and/or tedious!

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**THREE: Revealing Moments**

Mary was curled up in a chair for the third evening in a row. She knew he would be at her door any moment now, ready to walk before the evening meal. She shook her head and sighed, knowing she would refuse him again. _He doesn't deserve this_, she thought to herself, _but I don't know what else to do_.

Surely enough, Francis' knock soon sounded on the door and was quickly followed by his voice:

"Mary? Are you feeling well enough to take a walk tonight?"

She detected a hint of worry conveyed by Francis' tone. _If only I were actually ill _... She breathed in deeply before responding through the door, "No, Francis. I still feel quite sick. Please forgive me, but I intend to remain here in my rooms again this evening."

Silence greeted her from the other side. She imagined him leaning against the frame, frustrated - eager to see her, eager to touch her and, once more, not able to do so.

"All right," came his feeble reply. "I hope to see you tomorrow, then." She heard his footfalls hesitantly retreat down the corridor.

She wandered over to the window, wondering how it had all come to this. They had been making such progress in their walks. Plans for the wedding were coming together nicely, if you took Queen Catherine out of the details. Preparations had begun on the eastern wing of the castle - preparations for a place that would be truly hers, a place she might finally be able to consider her _home._

And, yet, she couldn't help recalling Nostradamus and the words he had spoken to her. She had questioned the queen's trusted confidant as to why the woman despised her so. It had seemed such a simple question, but the answer the seer had reluctantly provided had not been.

_She fears her son will lose his life because of his marriage to me_, she remembers_. She fears because Nostradamus saw it._

Nostradamus had no answers to her anxious questions about how and when and, since, she had thought of little else but that she would lose this man whom she admired, whom she was still just getting to know and coming to care for deeply. Her claim of illness had kept Francis at bay the past few nights, but she didn't expect it would last too much longer. He would in time grow suspicious, though she suspected he already had.

Straightening herself and wiping tears from her face with her sleeve - tears that she hadn't noticed herself shedding - Mary attempted to prepare for one of the servants to bring food to her rooms. She quite hated eating alone.

* * *

Later that evening, Mary found herself by the fire, studying Virgil in an attempt to keep her mind off of everything it gravitated toward. Her attempt was an incredible failure, as she could only remember her last evening with Francis, the sound of his voice as he read to her and the ease she had felt nestled in at his side.

Banging erupted on her door, startling her from her thoughts. _Who could it be at this hour?_ she wondered, though she didn't have to wait long to know.

"Mary! I know you're in there!"

_Francis_. Her heart quickened.

"Mary!" He shouted as the pounding became even more insistent. "Lola told me you aren't ill. I need to talk to you!"

She quickly jumped up and made her way to the door, hoping he could hear her clearly and would go away: "I don't want to talk tonight, Francis. I won't."

The door flung itself open and Mary jumped back to avoid its path. Francis appeared in the now-open doorway, and he was fuming.

"I don't care if you don't want to talk tonight. We are going to talk."

He entered and closed the door behind him, Mary wide-eyed at his behavior. She realized she was shaking when she said aloud, "Well, then. If we are going to talk, perhaps we should sit down?" and her voice trembled with each word.

"I don't think we should sit," he countered, his expression a mixture of anger and hurt, his stance indicating he was ready for a fight.

Gulping down air, she tried to speak calmly but to little avail. She couldn't remove the slight edge in her voice when she asked, "What would you like to discuss, then?"

"What is happening, Mary? A few days ago, we were wandering the eastern wing, content and dreaming, and now you have barely spoken to me in three days."

Mary braced herself, knowing that he was just getting started. As he had moved closer, she detected the distinct smell of wine on his breath.

"You have missed our walks, taken meals here in your rooms, claimed to be ill. I have been worried, hoping that nothing was seriously wrong ... " The volume of his voice began to rise to a yell. She imagined the page and her servants were all huddled next to the door, listening to their loud exchange.

"And then I find out tonight that you aren't really sick at all, and that not even your ladies know what is happening. But you've been avoiding me and I demand to know why!"

_I can't do this!_ her insides screamed. _How can I tell him I fear for his life simply because we are to wed in a matter of weeks?_

"Francis," she spoke calmly, haltingly, scrambling for the first lie to come to her mind. "I have been thinking we should perhaps postpone the wedding."

His expression changed quickly to add bewilderment to his anger and hurt, and Mary's heart felt the stab of its sharpness. He stumbled over to a chair, throwing himself into it as he took in her words.

"You want to postpone the wedding?" he confirmed.

"Yes," she nodded, hoping she could manage to keep from betraying her true reasons. "I do."

His stunned silence only lasted a moment before he let go a roaring, hostile, "No!"

Still standing, Mary grabbed hold of the chair back next to her, seeking some stability in the release of Francis' displeasure.

"There will be no postponement! We _will_ be married on your birthday." He returned to his feet and crossed over to her, but she backed away, speaking quickly as thoughts took shape in her head:

"I am the queen of Scotland, Francis. If I say we postpone the wedding, then we postpone the wedding." She managed to keep herself somewhat calm, resisting every urge to reach out and touch him.

He shook his head, grabbing hold of her. "No, Mary! I will not let you use that as a weapon. I will not let our marriage be as between a king and a queen, as my parents do. I refuse!"

"Francis, I ... " she tried to address him again, trying to remain committed to her lies.

"No!" He shook his head again, folding her into his arms, repeating emphatically, "No. No. No."

Her body betrayed her, relaxing in his embrace. She sighed. _This is why I didn't want to see him, to __have this conversation_, she reflected.

He had finally calmed down a bit, having found a point of focus in stroking her hair while he murmured "no" over and over into her ear. Sighing again, his name defeatedly fell from her lips.

"Francis?" Silence. "Could we please sit down and talk?"

She led him to the couch, sitting down and placing her hand on the seat as an invitation to join her. He relented and took a seat next to her. She struggled to meet his gaze until he gently pushed her chin up with his hand.

"Mary, please talk to me. What has happened?" His anger had obviously abated, replaced by concern and self-consciousness. "Did I do something?"

"No," Mary felt the words tumble forth as it was her turn to shake her head. "You haven't done anything."

"Then what is it?" His eyes pleaded with hers for the truth.

She found herself starting to speak several times, each time halting before the words spilled from her mouth. _All I can do is be honest - the words will have to come_.

"I spoke with Nostradamus about why your mother hates me." _There. One piece of it at a time_, she encouraged herself.

"And did you get an answer?" He questioned, his voice now meek, searching her eyes. He glimpsed a flash of pain as she withheld her answer. "Mary?"

She could only nod her head as her first response. _How can I tell him this? _Her eyes began to water, threatening.

"Your mother, she - well, she believes that our marriage will, somehow, result in your - your death. Nostradamus saw something."

Tears escaped her eyes and ran down her cheeks as she collapsed under the weight of the words she had spoken. He tugged her body toward his, his intoxicated nature forgetting some of his usual grace.

"Mary," he tried to comfort her. "Mary, we both will die someday."

He paused, realizing that this attempt at reassurance might not have been the most effective choice. He tried again.

"He could have said that about anyone." His hushed whisper was startling in contrast with the loud candor he had expressed earlier.

She leaned into him, tucking her head against his chest and timidly asked, "So, you don't believe him?"

"No," he shook his head. "No, I don't believe him."


	4. FOUR: Mother and Daughter

**Author's Note**: I apologize for this chapter taking a bit longer than the others. Blame should be placed entirely on my inability to stop writing stories in line with this show. I somehow added another one-shot to my collection last night instead of writing this! Thanks for everyone's kind comments and reviews. I'm excited to see the rest of this play out in the remaining eight chapters. Enjoy!

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**FOUR: Mother and Daughter**

With only so many days left before the wedding, guests began to arrive from all over the continent. Their usual custom was to arrive for Christmas, bearing costly gifts to bandy favor with the King and Queen, but their arrival came earlier on this particular year, nearly six weeks prior to the holiday, eager to partake in the wedding festivities and their abundance of wine.

Among them was Marie de Guise, Mary's mother. Expectant to see her for the first time in many years, Mary anxiously awaited her mother's arrival. _Will she be the same?_ she wondered as she sped through the corridors one morning, on her way to meet Francis in the eastern wing. Word had come by a rider that they would see the girl's mother in only a day or two.

In spite of Catherine's attempts to delay the wedding, everything was moving forward as expected. Mary's worry over Francis appeared from time to time, but Francis would reassure her and it would dissipate quickly. They determined not to let Nostradamus' unclear prophecies determine the course of their lives.

Francis stood waiting for Mary when she arrived. He took no time to exchange pleasantries before snagging her hand and pulling her up the stairwell behind him.

"Come with me. I want to show you something."

His excitement put Mary's thoughts of her mother far from her mind. She followed him up the stairs, scrambling to keep up with his quick pace.

"Where are we going?" she asked, laughing.

They came to a halt outside of a room they had decided would be theirs. Francis pulled open the door with his free hand and motioned her inside. Her curiosity piqued, Mary stepped into the room, surprised to see it had been furnished since their last visit.

"Do you like it?" He let her hand go as she wandered through the room, taking the time to see every detail. She gasped as her eyes fell upon a plaid cast across the back of a chair.

"Where did this come from?" Turning to look at him, she fingered the edges of the worn fabric. The stunned expression she wore startled him.

He found his way to her side, catching her elbow in his hand, before he responded.

"Your mother sent it along shortly after the wedding date was set. I had assumed it was her way of reminding you of your own country, but I gather from your shock that it is more than that ... Mary?"

She stood there silent, her gaze fixed on the piece of cloth. "Mary?" he tried again.

Mary breathed deeply, her eyes threatening with unshed tears.

"It belonged to my father." She paused. "I never knew him, you know. This piece of plaid was all I ever really had of him." Another breath, another attempt to steady herself. "I am surprised my mother kept it. She was never the sentimental type."

"She should be here soon, yes?"

Mary nodded, turning her frame back toward his. "Yes, she should be here by tomorrow's nightfall at the latest." She laughed bitterly as she thought on her mother.

Francis decided it was best not to say anything until she shifted the subject. He suspected her mother's visit was the cause for much of her recent distraction and he hoped she might now grant him an insight as to why. And, so, he waited.

"You would think that I would be happy to see her, wouldn't you?" She began to ramble. "But I haven't in so long that I don't even know what to think ... She was always so cold, keeping herself from me. We were never just a mother and her daughter. It wasn't possible - I was her queen before she really had the chance to know me as a daughter."

Sighing, she walked toward one of the windows, lost in memory.

"She brought me here when I was six and just left me. There were no tears shed, no drawn-out goodbyes. She had already buried two sons and her husband, and there was no sentiment left for me. I watched her ride away, just over there," she pointed out the window. "She never even waved."

His heart ached for her. As manipulative as his own mother had proven herself, he at least knew she did what she had done out of love for her son. He couldn't fathom never having seen any proof of that love. Francis closed the distance between them, snaking his arms around her from behind and dropping a gentle kiss on her shoulder.

"She was wrong, Mary. Perhaps she knows that now." He felt her shudder in his arms. "We will make our own home, Mary. Together_. Here_."

She turned in his grasp and he reached up to wipe a stray tear from her cheek. A timid smile cracked at the corners of her mouth as she replied, "Yes, we will."

He sensed she was eager to entertain a different conversation, so he pushed her back into the wall, a teasing flicker in his eyes.

"And that bed over there," he indicated the furnishing with a nod of his head and smirked. "That bed will have stories to tell."

Feigning innocence, she presented to him her best doe-eyed face, returning his tease in her own right. Grabbing hold of his shirt, adding a slight tug toward her, she began to cheekily inquire, "What kind of stor-"

But he cut her off, his desire for her more than his desire to continue their short-lived game. His one hand moved to support her head, his other directing their bodies close together with a crushing hold on her back.

Lost in one another, they failed to notice the first knock or the opening of the door. A second knock followed, accompanied by the distinct sound of someone clearing her throat.

They froze, slowly turning and opening their eyes to discover their interrupter: Greer. Mary's face flushed in recognition of their compromising position.

A mischievous sparkle in her eyes, Greer chose to act as though she hadn't just walked in on the two of them already taking advantage of their future bedroom. Her humor at the situation couldn't be concealed, however, and her face wore an amused smile even if she did manage to stifle her laughter.

"Mary, there you are! I have been sent to find you. Your mother's carriage has been spotted. We are to go out and greet her upon her arrival. Are you ready?"

Francis squeezed Mary's hand tightly as they both moved toward the door, Greer leading the way.

"It will be all right," he whispered into her ear.

* * *

Later, Mary found herself in her rooms preparing for the evening meal. A knock sounded on the door and her page popped his head in, announcing her mother's request for an audience before the meal. Mary agreed, and the page led Marie de Guise into her daughter's rooms.

Their earlier exchange had been brief, though Marie had presented every sentiment of joy at being reunited with her daughter. Though certainly intimidating, the hardened, stalwart woman from whom Mary had received her stubbornness was nowhere to be found.

After Marie had embraced her daughter, Mary heard Catherine remark behind her that this was certainly not the same woman who had dropped her daughter off at the French Court ten years previously. At least Mary hadn't been alone in noticing the change.

Marie settled herself into a chair, chatting about her journey and the wedding. She asked whether Mary had received her father's plaid, one of several wedding gifts.

Mary tried to accept her mother's changed demeanor without question, but she couldn't ward off the nagging feeling that something wasn't quite right. She hoped for the best and continued on with their conversation.

"Yes, mother. Thank you. It was one of my favorite things as a child."

Marie let out a cluck of affirmation but didn't respond otherwise, taking a moment to survey her daughter, the air in the room shifting as she did so.

"Mary, I would like to speak to you of something," she spoke firmly, her voice dropping a bit and breaking their uneasy quiet.

"Of course, Mother," replied Mary hesitantly. "What is it?" The room grew even more still, the fire's crackling in the hearth its only sound.

"Once you and Francis have married," her tone took on a once-familiar coolness, "I would like you to return to Scotland."

Shock registered readily on Mary's face, the request disarming. Her silence encouraged her mother to continue.

"Now that you will have a king, it is time."

Mary's expression hardened in queen-like fashion in spite of her surprise. She should have expected something like this. Even in their regular correspondence over the course of many years, her mother had never changed. _Why should I have expected otherwise?_ she wondered.

"I will think on your advisement, Mother. In the meantime, I do believe it is time for the evening meal. Shall we go down together?"

Mary rose and her mother followed suit. Marie refused her daughter's offer, claiming a need to freshen up before the meal. They walked into the corridor together, and then branched in two directions.

Francis found Mary just outside of the supper hall. Her face was emotionless, unsure of how to convey her mother's request. She did not notice him until he reached for her hand and spoke her name.

"Mary?"

She didn't answer at first.

He watched her swallow down a breath, saw her steel herself. His mind sought to figure out what had happened to make her so sullen, so suddenly closed off from him.

"What is it, Mary?" he tried again.

She finally caught his eyes and her lips spoke the words she dreaded to tell him:

"My mother would like us to return to Scotland, and soon."


	5. FIVE: Separate

**FIVE: Separate**

For days, they had gone around and around every reason for or against returning to Scotland with no result. No decision had been made, though Mary's mother was certainly pressing for one.

Her country needed a ruler who was actually _in _her country. He didn't want to leave _his _country, his family. Neither wanted to leave the place in which they had dreamed of building a life together. She wanted to please her mother and get away from _his _mother. He wanted adventure. She wanted what she had always known.

Around and around.

The wedding was drawing closer, mothers-in-law more impatient and, still, no decision was to be had. The tension grew quite thick in the presence of unresolved issues, and Mary and Francis both bore the marks of persons under great strain.

After one morning's rousing round of arguments, the two decided to spend the afternoon hours apart. They hoped it might lend them some clarity.

* * *

Francis set out for the stables for a much-needed ride. As he neared the outbuilding, he spotted his half-brother about to embark on a ride himself. _I can't remember the last time I saw Bash_, pondered Francis.

"Bash! Wait up!" He called across the grounds, motioning for his brother to stop. His feet sped up, carrying him over to where Bash sat astride his horse.

"Would you allow me to join you on your ride?" Francis questioned eagerly. He saw Bash tense a bit at the inquiry, but brushed it aside as Bash assented and waited nearby while the stableboy saddled and readied a horse for Francis.

They rode for quite some time in silence, through land familiar to them in younger years. Arriving at a small pool a short distance from the castle, they dismounted, tied their horses to a tree and sat down to rest a bit. Neither was eager to talk, but Francis attempted some simple conversation.

"It's been a while since we've ridden together, hasn't it?" He watched Bash shift a bit uneasily off to the side. "It's actually been a while since I've seen you at all. Has Father given you tasks to do?"

"It has been a spell," Bash paused. "And, yes, Father has given me plenty to keep my time occupied."

Again, the uneasy quiet fell between them. Francis grabbed a blade of grass, tearing it into small pieces with his fingers.

"Mary's mother wants us to return to Scotland."

Bash's eyebrows arched a bit at this, "She does?"

Francis nodded, his eyes searching the horizon as if it could grant him an answer. "We are not sure what to do. France is home, to _both _of us, but Scotland needs its queen and no one knows how many years our father has left. I have barely travelled outside the castle's walls, you know?"

A gruff grunt of acknowledgement came from Bash.

"Perhaps it would be good for you to go."

Francis snapped his gaze back to his brother. "You think we should leave?"

Nodding, Bash replied haltingly. "Yes. Mary is the queen of her people. They should get to know her, _love_ her." Francis noticed the flicker of pain in his brother's eyes as he spoke. "And, you - you, little brother - have been too thoroughly sheltered for your own good. You need an adventure, a chance to prove yourself a king and not just the son of one."

Bash produced a cautious smile as he finished laying out his reasons, though Francis suspected he hadn't shared them all.

Since their father had announced the wedding's date, Bash had been largely absent. Francis recalled numerous occasions he had caught his half-brother staring at Mary. He long had been curious whether his brother had developed an attraction to the young woman who would soon become his sister-in-law. He sensed his brother's desire for them to go to Scotland was a self-protective measure, rooted in his refusal to interfere with the couple's happiness even if it meant sacrificing his own.

"Well, then." Unsure of what to say, Francis rose, preparing to re-mount his horse. "We should probably turn back. It will be dark soon."

* * *

Mary decided to wander the grounds while the day still had light. Her thoughts flew to Scotland, sifting what she remembered of her six years there.

_There's not even much Scottish in me_, she acknowledged. _It is only on rare occasion that my words tumble with the lilt of my people._

She stopped lakeside, setting her elbows upon the wall and resting her head in her hands. She sighed, wondering how she could ever make this decision.

"I see you and Francis are not together today." A voice spoke behind her, sending a thread of pity through her heart. _Catherine_, she recognized. _So afraid to lose her son_.

"No," she relayed calmly. "We decided to spend the afternoon apart."

"I do hope nothing is wrong," Catherine feigned worry, shifting her expression to one of sympathy.

Mary turned to face Catherine. This woman would be her mother-in-law - this woman who hated her now, but who had been so kind to her as a child.

"Nothing is wrong, I assure you." Mary saw Catherine's features fall ever so slightly before she bolstered her look of concern. "Though, I know you worry."

Catherine brushed aside the comment, "Of course I worry, child. He is my son. Mothers are supposed to worry over their sons."

"That is not quite what I meant," spoke Mary kindly. "I know of the visions Nostradamus has shared with you, concerning Francis."

Every pretense of beneficence vanished from Catherine's face, a hard bitterness taking over instead. Her words bit deeply, "And, yet, you still intend to marry him. You selfish, heartless girl."

Taken aback, Mary reminded herself that this was the reaction she had expected from Catherine should they ever have opportunity for this conversation.

"I love your son." She paused, taking in Catherine's demeanor. "Truly, I do."

When Catherine still didn't speak, Mary continued, "The visions aren't clear enough to cause concern. There is no how or when. We will all die someday. Why not let him live now?" Mary paused. "You know that our union will be different, that he will be loved. Why do you insist on refusing him the one thing you always hoped you might have yourself?"

Catherine's sight locked on the sinking sun, her body unmoving. She gave Mary no response, no indication of what thoughts now came upon her.

"Very well, then, Your Majesty." Mary's words were soft, empathetic. She presented the queen with a soft bow and began her walk back to the castle. "I must be going."

* * *

She found Francis waiting for her just outside of her rooms, ready for their evening walk.

"It is growing colder outside. Do you think we might just sit in here tonight?"

She opened the door in response to his suggestion and they found their way to seats by the fire. They settled in, temporarily finding respite from more pressing matters.

"Fifteen days, Francis." She ventured, hoping talk of the wedding might improve both of their moods. "Aren't you excited at all?" she teased, taking note of his haggard expression.

He mustered a weary smile, taking her hand into his. "Of course I am, my love." His eyes shone a sober blue, his face alight in spite of the day's weariness. "It is just that they will take you from me before then. What am I to do without you for seven days?"

She leaned into his side, resting her head on his chest. "Respect tradition, I suppose." He traced her shoulder with his fingers. "Besides, it will give us time to figure out where we should live afterward." He felt her sigh move his body backward ever so slightly.

"As for that," he turned his face to meet hers. "I think I know what we should do."


	6. SIX: Yours

**Author's Note**: This marks the halfway point of this here story. I like to think of it as a mid-story finale, for there is certainly more to come. To let you in on my process a little, this chapter in my outline read, "The wedding. Will they leave France behind? Bwah-ha-ha." It proved more difficult to write, as marriage and what happens therein are sacred to me. Quite fluffy, to be honest, but hopefully it will help stave off anxious thoughts as we wait for the next episode to air in two weeks. :)

I did quite a bit of research on weddings of the period and also for the real wedding of Francis and Mary. If you do research at all, you'll notice that I only borrowed some of the details. December 8 was Mary's birthday, but it was not their wedding day. They actually married in Paris at Notre Dame to great fanfare and in extravagance. Mary wore white, which wasn't really traditional at the time (it was made popular by Queen Victoria of England a few centuries later). For more information, check out /the-dauphin/mary-queen-of-scots-and-francois-wedd ing-ceremony-and-festivities/. Also, I borrowed a bit from Liz Curtis Higgs, who taught me quite a bit about Scottish traditions through her Lowlands of Scotland series (books). I cobbled things together and made my own version, which is the beauty of AU. Enjoy!

* * *

**SIX: Yours**

Morning dawned, though he had long been awake. Their things had been moved into the eastern wing the previous day and Francis had spent his hours instructing the servants in unpacking and final preparations for Mary's arrival. His energy spent, and with little else to do, Francis had found himself retiring earlier than he usually would have.

Seven days had passed since he had last seen her. She had been taken elsewhere on the estate by her mother and ladies, invoking some Scottish tradition or another.

As predicted, he was losing parts of his sanity in her absence. The pressing details for the wedding and the reality of moving into their new rooms without her were maddening. And, yet, the promise of things to come had finally arrived.

The empty bed to his side mocked him. _The only thing missing is her. _He rose, tossing aside the bedcovers.

Francis requested breakfast and his valet by way of his guards, who began to protest the earliness of the hour but were cut off sharply.

"I am the future king of France and it is my wedding day, and I don't care how early it is!"

Sheepishly, Francis closed the door as he returned to the room. He heard one of the guards shuffle off down the hall, intent on pleasing the dauphin.

_This will certainly be an interesting day_, he thought.

* * *

The cottage came alive at an earlier hour than the castle, and no one slept very long once it had. Mary soon found herself surrounded by her ladies, who entreated her to eat quickly so they could proceed with preparing her for the day.

The girls and Mary's mother had been housed at the cottage for seven days. While still on the grounds of the castle, the King had provided a heavy guard. All, save Mary, had travelled to the castle in order to assist with the final details of the wedding.

While the others flew to other parts of the cottage to prepare themselves, Aylee remained through breakfast, taking care to pass along a sealed letter to the bride.

"Oh, thank you, Aylee! It doesn't quite fit with tradition, but I don't know how I would have made it through the last days without you being so willing to exchange our letters. I am so ... "

Mary's voice trailed off as she realized she couldn't quite express herself on this most unusual of all mornings.

"I know, Mary." Aylee smiled. "I am so glad that I could help. Now, read and eat and let us move forward with the day! I will return shortly." She took her leave of the room, allowing Mary a few quiet moments before the others returned.

Mary broke the seal and unfolded the parchment.

"My dear Mary - I wish you the happiest of all birthdays. I am yours and only yours. Today, you will finally be mine. I will see you at the chapel, my bride."

She walked to a side table and pulled out a piece of parchment of her own, taking care to write quickly lest the others return too soon. As the ink dried, she sealed the letter shut and hoped she could get it to Aylee one last time without anyone noticing.

"Mary!" Vibrant voices entered the room once more, chiding her on how little she had eaten of her breakfast, teasing her for being nervous._  
_

_Such kind souls, these dear friends of mine_, she pondered smiling.

"Now," started Greer. "We must get started or we will never make it to the church. Have you decided how to wear your hair, because I certainly have some ideas ... "

* * *

Francis ate breakfast and his valet arrived to make his appearance more kempt. Afterward, he wandered the wing, stopping in each room to make sure everything was in place. He skipped the ladies' rooms, as their things had been relocated along with Mary's. Unlike Mary, however, they had been present to settle their belongings.

He came to the room where the two had decided to keep his blade smith's tools. Entering, he walked over to a drawer and pulled it open. Francis reached for the small bag that lay inside, felt through the fabric to be sure its contents were still there, and tucked it into the palm of his hand reminding himself, _This is one thing I certainly don't want to forget_.

He heard footsteps behind him. Turning, he found a maid who had obviously been tasked with finding him. She curtsied and provided a nervous smile.

"I am sorry to interrupt, Dauphin, but I was sent to fetch you. It is time to get you dressed and ready."

Returning to their rooms, he found his valet waiting for him once more. His page stepped forward, bowing ever so slightly and extending a small sealed letter with one hand.

"Thank you, page. That will be all." The young man exited, bowing once more. "If you'll excuse me for just a moment," he turned to his valet. "I will be ready to dress as soon as I have read this." He indicated the note, to which the valet nodded and briefly removed himself from the room.

* * *

The afternoon sun shone brightly, long having disbanded the December morning's mists.

Francis was quickly ushered out of the castle and into a waiting carriage after he had finished dressing. Once inside, he pulled from a pocket the note Mary had sent him that morning, determined to read it only once more on the short ride to the chapel.

"Francis, I can hardly wait. I am yours, truly."

The horses ceased their movement and he looked out to see they had arrived. Dismounting, he took a deep breath to curb his anticipation.

He found his way into the small church. Having decided on a second celebration to be held in Paris and to put on display all the wealth of the kingdom at a later date, his father had agreed to a simple wedding on the grounds. Francis was grateful for the smaller scale of the ceremony itself, knowing a large reception waited for them back at the castle.

Mary's ride to the chapel took a bit longer, and was perhaps filled with a bit more chatter from her ladies in waiting, but she found herself there soon enough. As she alighted, all four of her ladies made sure every last detail was in place, smoothing her dress and tucking in loose hairs. She found that nothing could have prepared her for the eagerness and excitement she felt standing there, ready to have her own wedding begin.

A footman opened the door to the chapel and she stepped through the door to find her mother waiting, a look of approval on her face for Mary's appearance.

They walked forward together, not able to miss the whispers as those gathered saw Mary for the first time. At first, she stared at the floor in an attempt to escape the attention, revelling in the fact that this was, indeed, actually happening. When she finally managed to look up, she spotted Francis standing with the priest and from that moment, her eyes looked at nothing else.

He had seen the door open and Mary step through to join her mother. She was an incredible thing to behold.

Francis felt his breath catch at his first sight of her. _Was she so beautiful seven days ago? _he asked himself. She had chosen a gown in her favorite color of white, a dress unlike any he had seen. It emphasized her beauty and regality in equal measure. On her head she wore an intricately woven white veil, which rested atop one of her simpler crowns. As she moved toward him, he found himself stunned even as she kept her gaze downward. When she did raise her head, brown eyes meeting his own, he felt he had come undone.

The ceremony proceeded as planned, the readings bleeding one into the other and the hymns dull in the background. They exchanged the two ornate rings his father had bestowed as a wedding present, as well as the vows that would forever bind them in the eyes of the Church. And, then, it was over.

One of the carriages waited in front of the chapel to take them back to the castle so the festivities could begin in their honor. As she entered, she noticed Francis hand the driver a coin and whisper in his ear before he joined her inside.

"What did you tell him?" she asked as he sat down next to her.

He responded by folding back the veil and kissing her in a way that never would have been approved of within the chapel. The carriage began moving and he pulled away ever so slightly, a bright smile sinking into every crevice of his features.

"I told him," he caught his breath, taken aback once more by the beautiful creature before his eyes. "I told him to take his time getting back to the castle, for my bride is lovely and I would like more than a short ride alone with her."

"Oh," she spoke softly, her twinkling gaze returning his. "I suppose I can allow that."

In his discretion, the driver circled the castle grounds twice.

* * *

The feasts and dancing dragged on into the evening. While forced to mingle with heads of state from across the continent, as well as more notable French nobility, the newlywed couple did not separate through any of it. Following a series of toasts, Francis leaned over to whisper in Mary's ear that it was time to go. He felt her tense where his hand rested on her shoulder. He sensed she knew of the ritual to come and grabbed her hand, squeezing it gently yet firmly in reassurance.

A few men and Mary's ladies rose to accompany them to the eastern wing, to their bedchamber. Mary's ladies assisted her in changing from her dress and in removing the veil, a Scottish kell given as one of many gifts by her mother.

Then, to her great surprise, everyone left. Confused, she turned to Francis. "What are they-" she began to ask. He crossed to her, looked intently into her eyes and softly replied, bringing his hand up to graze her cheek.

"I arranged for other ways to verify our union with my father." He paused, drinking deeply of her presence. "It seemed best for it to be just the two of us, and in our own rooms."

He noticed she began to relax, first in her shoulders, then in her jaw. He pulled his other hand from behind his back.

Her eyes widened as he opened his palm, presenting her with a simple ring. She took it between her thumb and forefinger to examine it. It was beautiful, polished to a sheen but delicately etched, the words _La Votre_ inscribed within the inner circle. She found she could not speak for the emotion that overcame her heart.

"I know it isn't like the rings my father gave us, but I wanted to make you a gift of my own choosing, to assure you that I am always yours." He paused, retrieving the ring from her fingers and placing it on her right hand. "I have missed you terribly these last days, and I have no intention of ever waking again in this room without you here. I want you to know," his voice took on an urgent tone. "I will be at your side, as yours and yours alone, from this day forward."

He stepped closer and set his hands on her sides, preparing to draw her to himself. She found her voice weak but saturated with emotion. "I am so grateful to be yours."

Lifting her, he carried her to the bed and laid her down gently. "Now," he grinned, "I believe I promised this bed would have some stories."

And they lost themselves in one another and the newness of husband and wife. There was no talk of king or of queen here - no talk of country - just Francis and just Mary.


	7. SEVEN: First Month

**Author's Note**: I've been incredibly flattered by the responses and traffic I've had for this story. Thanks to each of you for your reviews and reading! There's a slight chance the story will run a chapter or two longer than I had originally planned ... This one here was supposed to hold much more plot than it does, but it got away from me. I chose to limit it instead and keep chapter length somewhat consistent (under 2000 words, that is). So, who knows? Enjoy!

* * *

**SEVEN: First Month**

_The first month after marriage, when there is nothing but tenderness and pleasure. (Samuel Johnson)_

In spite of their reluctance to leave their new quarters, the newlyweds were sent off the following morning by the Court. It had been planned for them that they would travel to Paris and spend several days there as a wedding trip.

Paris, while quite vibrant, was not enough to draw Francis and Mary out of their rooms very often. The two sought to make the most of their days together without distraction. They spent their last two mornings in the markets and shops, hoping to find Christmas gifts for their family, friends, and servants. Vendors sold them earrings and bundles of lace, rolls of silk richly dyed from the East, small toys and slippers, and a new trunk to carry everything back with them.

The carriage ride back to the castle was long and Mary slept, her head slumped against Francis' shoulder. He smiled at her sleeping form, memories returning of a similarly lengthy ride with his younger brother on their way to meet his own future bride, Madeleine. Her scent had been foreign to him then, yet intoxicating. Now, it was very much familiar in light of the last months.

The Court heralded their arrival as it had celebrated their departure, everyone on the front lawn waiting for the carriage as it came up the road. Francis glanced out, ready to disembark as the wheels rolled to a stop. He stepped down and turned back to assist Mary. As they spun around to face those gathered, he noticed their announcement.

"Her Grace, Mary, Queen of Scotland, and His Grace, Francis, King-Consort of Scotland and Dauphin of France."

Leaning over to whisper in Mary's ear, he offered his arm, saying lightly, "That is certainly a little different now, isn't it?"

She stifled a giggle and they walked forward to be received. In turn, they embraced nearly everyone before being led inside, Charles chattering at their heels about a new game he had learned and Lola eager to share with them their numerous wedding gifts. Catherine received her son warmly and her daughter-in-law a little less warmly, though there was a noticeable difference in the queen's demeanor.

Somehow, they made it to their rooms, requesting the chance to rest before the evening meal. Francis told the guards stationed outside of their door that they were not to be disturbed until it was time for said meal, and they went inside and closed the door behind them.

Mary stopped, once more taking in their bedchamber. Francis took her in his arms, smoothed back a strand of hair misplaced by the carriage ride, and said simply, "Welcome home, Mary."

She sighed, relaxing into his chest. "At least for a while."

He nodded and placed a gentle kiss on her forehead. "Yes, at least for a while." Stillness and peace hung in the air as he walked her over to the bed. "You should rest for a spell, my love. Here," he pulled back the bedcovers, helping her remove her shoes and lay down. "I know you are tired from the journey. There are several hours yet before supper. Please, sleep."

"All right then," she agreed. An impish look found its way onto her features as he leaned down to kiss her once more. She took advantage of his oddly balanced position and pulled him down onto the bed with her. "I will rest if you will join me." She smiled drowsily as he flopped over her, boots and all. Laughing, she bent herself at odd angles to attempt the removal of said boots.

Once they were finally settled, Mary laying against Francis and her head tucked comfortably in the crook of his arm, she sighed deeply - relishing the moment and yet thinking of all that needed to be done now that they were back at Court.

He tickled her just a little bit on her side, taking care not to move any other part of his fatigued body. "I know that sigh, Mary," he spoke softly. "Rest, my love. Do not think of all that must be done."

She agreed with a tired nod of her head, protesting only a little. "But Francis, we must tell them what we have decided. They are all waiting to hear what we intend to do."

Again, his voice encouraged her to cast aside such thoughts. "Rest, Mary. We will let them know soon enough."

* * *

The next days passed quickly as they resumed life at the Court and continued with preparations for the Christmas holiday and feasts. With each day and night spent in the eastern wing, Mary felt a sense of belonging that she hadn't before.

One afternoon as he entered their rooms to ready himself for supper, Francis found her asleep on their bed. _Strange_, he thought to himself. _She doesn't often rest in the middle of the day, does she? _

He crouched by her side and nudged her awake, his hand on her jaw.

"Mary? Are you feeling all right?"

She awakened slowly, groggily, blinking at the reintroduction of light. His worried expression caught her attention and a smile tugged its way to the corners of her mouth.

"I am just a little tired. Surely it is just the added details of the holiday and adjusting to our new sleeping arrangement." She teased, a blush rising on her cheeks, hoping to dispel any anxiety he might be tempted to feel.

With his help, she sat up and beckoned him to join her on the bed. "I did want to discuss something with you, though."

"Of course, wife." The sweet flavor of that word was something Francis savored every time it left his tongue, and he found himself using it more as the days of their marriage continued. "What is it?"

He sat down and she toyed with the blanket still draped across her lap. _She fidgets so much when she's nervous_, he thought. _Why is she nervous?_

"I have been wondering whether we came to the right decision. It's just-"

"Mary," he began. As much as he knew she wanted to spill forth every argument all over again, he cut her off. He had observed her in recent weeks, and quite carefully, and he had sensed this conversation coming.

"I know you want to stay." Her eyes darted up quickly to meet his, her surprise that he knew her heart evident in her countenance. He continued, "I see it in your eyes every night as we come back here. You have a home here, certainly, and always will if it is needed. But we cannot stay." His tone was gentle, firmly reassuring.

"But, Francis, this has always been your home!" Emotional tears began to slip from her eyes, one by one, and he wiped each of them away with a sweep of his thumb.

"Yes, it has, but it has never really felt a home until these last few weeks. _You_ have established my sense of home, Mary. _Only you_. As long as I have you in Scotland, I am certain I will feel at home there, as well."

"Are you sure?" she questioned meekly, resuming her fiddling with the blanket.

"Yes," he lifted her chin with his fingers, making sure she saw his eyes as he spoke. "I am sure."

* * *

"I will not allow it."

The throne room was especially tense this morning, Francis and Mary having finally divulged their intentions to all interested parties. Queen Catherine, in particular, did not take the news well.

"I will not allow you to take my son away from me. ..."

Her ranting continued and King Henry let it. His wife could have her say, but his would be what mattered. He took in the younger queen and his son, their calm measure. Well-aware that they had taken a good deal of time to make this decision and to make it on the basis of what would be best for both countries left him with a great sense of accomplishment. Perhaps Francis had listened to his instruction after all.

His thoughts were interrupted by the silence, now glaring as Catherine had ceased talking and all present had turned to him. _It's good to be king, _he thought, smiling wryly.

"I understand Catherine's distress at losing our son from our own court, but I am afraid that is where our agreement ends. It is best for Scotland to have its queen returned with a king at her side. When the French crown does pass to you, Francis," he acknowledged his son. "I do hope you will take similar care in deciding where to reside when both countries are yours."

Francis nodded, acquiescing to the terms.

"Besides," his father continued, joking. "Having two kings and two queens in the same court is one too many. You intend to depart at the end of the next month, yes?"

"Yes, father. At the close of January, we will set out for Scotland."

"Very well, then. Thank you for informing us of your intentions. I think it best if we all ready ourselves for the Christmas feasting this afternoon."

The king dismissed them, Catherine appearing promptly at his side ready for a fight. He placed a gentle hand on her shoulder, a rare moment of tenderness.

"Catherine, I know you are upset, but they are rulers themselves. They must do what is best for Scotland." The warmth and patience of his gaze was unusual and quenched all protest from the queen. "Let us set this aside and enjoy the feast. They will be with us for yet another month." His eyes took on a jesting twinkle, "There is plenty of time for you to tire of them."

* * *

Francis and Mary returned to their rooms emotionally spent. In particular, Francis took note that Mary looked physically spent as well. In spite of their discussion, he had to admit he was worried for her. She slept well, always waking refreshed, and then tired rapidly midday. He walked her over to the bed, her face puzzled but her body unable to fight the firm directing grasp of his arm behind her back.

He helped her onto the bed before speaking, noting her questions.

"No, I am not going to take advantage of you before the feast, though I most certainly would like to," his laughter was light before his face set itself into a grim collection of wrinkled brow and uneasy eyes. "I'm worried about you, Mary. We are only halfway through the day and you are utterly exhausted."

"The morning held a lot," she attempted to defend her state. "Please don't worry over me."

"Oh, but I do," he replied huskily. "I want you to rest before the feast. If you continue to be tired, I will need to consult with Nostradamus."

Protesting, she fought him as he tried to assist her in laying down.

"Mary!" He pinned her effectively to the bed. "Sleep! If you feel better, then we have no reason to worry." She gave in, begrudgingly letting him pull the covers over her.

"Good. I will be back before the festivities begin." He pressed a kiss onto her cheek and moved toward the door, concern etched in his features. _Why is she suddenly so tired? _he wondered as he entered the corridor and took care to inform the guards that his wife was sleeping inside and not to be waked before his return. _  
_

_Why, indeed?_


	8. EIGHT: Farewells

**Author's Note**: So many of you are so smart! ;) It has been so much fun to read your reviews and predictions from chapter 7! There are yet a few things you hopefully will not have seen coming. This chapter is heavy on the narrative, but I felt it was time for a brief narrative respite from the dialogue of previous chapters. In the case that you do wonder after reading this, yes, I have had this chapter (all of them, actually) planned from the very beginning.

* * *

**EIGHT: Farewells**

Francis paced outside the door to his and Mary's bedchamber. Nostradamus was taking his time to examine Mary, as her consistent fatigue hadn't lessened since Christmas. _  
_

He heard the door creak and saw Nostradamus' head peer through its opening.

"We are ready for you to join us, Your Grace," he spoke gruffly, motioning Francis into the room.

Francis entered and saw Mary seated where he had left her on the chair closest to the fire. He noticed she seemed less anxious than she had earlier and hoped that meant she was all right. Setting himself in a chair next to hers, he took her hand in his and waited for the sometimes-seer-sometimes-physic to present his thoughts on Mary's condition.

"Your wife and I have been speaking about her symptoms, and I have examined a few things merely out of precaution. Her exhaustion appears to be the main symptom, with nothing else of concern - no cough, no fever, no rash. There is a good chance, however, that her exhaustion will not be the last symptom." Francis' encouragement quickly turned to confusion as he looked first to Nostradamus and then to Mary.

"What does that mean?" he asked as calmly as he could, his grip tightening a bit on Mary's hand as he awaited an answer.

"It means," Nostradamus replied, his mouth fighting a smirk. "It means that you have done very well as your wife's husband." He paused for effect before excusing himself from the room. "You two have plenty to discuss. Mary, I will see to it that the necessary herbs are stocked in the kitchens."

Struggling to make sense of the man's comments, Francis turned to Mary as he heard the door close. "Mary? What is he talking about, me having done very well as your husb-"

He never finished his sentence, the truth lighting upon him suddenly. Mary confirmed his suspicion with a nod of her head, an honest mixture of excitement and fear in her eyes.

"And you're certain?" She laughed aloud at the earnestness in his voice.

"I am as certain as one can be who has never been in this position," she replied. "It is still early, though. Nostradamus said I should be watchful for more than a month yet, being careful to rest and to eat properly." She kept her gaze on him, trying to gauge his reaction even while shock was still the most readable expression on his face. She rose from her chair and knelt before him, hoping at the least to catch his eyes.

"Francis? Talk to me. What do you think?" Her voice was soft, measured.

His head spun, a hundred questions surfacing rapidly with one at the center, and he finally looked up at her. "Should we delay our journey to Scotland, then?"

She breathed deeply, rocking back on her heels and standing once more. "It's time I laid down. Please, walk with me?" She extended her hand to his, and he joined her. The two walked across the room before she began to answer his question.

"I don't want to delay my return to Scotland. It has been far too long as it is." She spoke firmly as he helped her onto their bed, his main concern for her wellbeing.

"I know that, Mary. Believe me, I do. In light of this news, however, I am concerned that the journey will be too much for you. You are already so tired. I don't want you to suffer needlessly." His eyes pleaded with her to reconsider the decision he knew was already made. His fingers stroked mindlessly through her hair, also trying to persuade in their own way.

She shook her head, eyes saddened by his worry. Her fingers stilled his. "You are very sweet, my dear husband, but I will be all right. As long as I don't overly exert myself, Nostradamus sees no risk for me in our journey. Don't worry."

* * *

The days of January passed quickly, with countless preparations being made for the couple's departure. Mary and Francis took joy in their secret, which was held in confidence by Nostradamus.

Marie de Guise had departed soon after being assured that her daughter was healthy and would be perfectly suited for travel to Scotland. She left to see to the necessary preparations for Mary's homecoming.

Though Mary did indeed slow her pace of life, Francis saw the stress it caused her as her list of tasks to do before leaving continued to grow. He managed to talk her into letting him take care of closing out their affairs in French Court and into allowing him to direct the packing of their belongings by the servants.

He suspected she wrestled constantly with the impending adjustment from living as a queen on foreign soil to ruling as queen-regent in her own homeland, a place she barely remembered.

* * *

The Court saw them off at the end of the month. Catherine had somehow made her peace with her inability to control her son at this stage of his life, but she still clung tightly to him before he climbed into the carriage - knowing full well she might never see him again. The faces outside the carriage were somber, vastly different from those who had received them in celebration upon their return from Paris.

Farewells had been difficult with everyone. In addition to her ladies-in-waiting, Mary had agreed to bring back a kitchen boy who seemed more Scottish than French and they had decided upon a half dozen most-trusted guardsmen to help protect Francis while on Scottish soil. Most of the ladies were excited to see their families again, but Kenna was most sullen and moody. Aylee, in particular, took great comfort in knowing she was on her way back home, in spite of Nostradamus' prophecy.

The journey was lengthy, nearly two weeks in the weather common to the winter season. As expected, Francis spent much of the time watching Mary sleep across from him in the carriage. He read while daylight allowed for it and, when it did not, he found himself wondering about Scotland and what their life would be like in a land he had never seen. When she was awake, he asked Mary countless questions about what little she did remember, and of what she had been told by her mother and ladies.

Mary had not expressed her fears before they left, but they were each given voice at some point or other during the three-day ride to Outreau, where they would board a ship to skirt England's coastline northward. She desired to be a good ruler, but she didn't really know the people; she wanted to be a good mother, but she feared it would take her away from her duties; she longed to love the land as her own, but she suspected France would always be first in her heart as country; not to mention, continued turmoil between Catholics and Protestants had occurred in Scotland as much as in England. By the time they boarded the vessel slated to convey them to Edinburgh, Francis found his wife incredibly anxious by the prospect of all that awaited her and found himself once more very worried after her wellbeing.

The North Sea was cruel to the already road-weary travelers. Everyone took note of the young queen's seasickness - everyone, that is, but her husband, who knew the truth behind her nausea and dizziness. Most assumed it would pass in the days on board. Francis sought every opportunity to force Mary to eat or to drink tea made from herbs sent by Nostradamus, but nothing stayed in her stomach for long.

As they disembarked nine days later in Edinburgh, he breathed a sigh of relief, hoping that the worst days were behind her and grateful she would not have to endure the endless rocking of the ship any longer.

Weather would determine their arrival at Weymuss Castle, where Mary's mother awaited them. Men in Edinburgh cautioned that to delay their start toward the castle might mean they could not leave the city for several days, for there were signs of a brutal winter storm approaching quickly. In spite of Francis' desire to have her rest in Edinburgh, even if for a few days, Mary was earnest in her desire to journey onward. They left Edinburgh as soon as their belongings could be transferred into multiple carriages and carts.

Their passage through West Weymuss was met by the entire population, most gawking openly at the sizable caravan making its way toward the castle. None knew that their queen had returned, as Marie had only confided in a few trusted advisors. She suspected (and correctly) that the queen would be safest if no one knew she was traveling.

They arrived at Weymuss Castle to much fanfare, a victory after Mary's many years abroad. Marie wasted no time in directing servants to dispense her daughter and son-in-law's effects to their living quarters near the tower. A footman showed them to the rooms and informed them that nothing was planned until the evening, in the case they would like to rest.

They explored their rooms and took in the view of the shining River Forth from their windows as servants brought to them their belongings. Aware that Mary would soon clamor to unpack, Francis steered her toward the bed. She looked at him, more than a little frustrated that he wouldn't let her do what she wanted.

"I know that look, Mary. You may be the queen, but you are also the mother of the child who resides in your womb. You have withstood several hard days of travel. Rest first. I promise I will help you unpack as soon as you awaken." His words fell firmly with a resolution she didn't often hear in his voice, so she reluctantly let him help her into the bed, as he had done so often.

And, all too quickly, she fell asleep.

* * *

The next evening, Marie arranged for feasting and festivities to celebrate both Mary's homecoming and her marriage to Francis. Mary, beautifully attired for the first time in weeks, held the entire Scottish Court captive with her youth and eagerness to rule well. As the night wore on, however, Francis noticed a pained expression cross her features more than once - though she quickly passed off each incidence with a well-trained smile.

"Are you all right, my love?" He caught her elbow as she began to turn from one conversation to another. She faced him, the pain more evident in her eyes. She shook her head and he pulled her into an alcove for them to escape any interlopers.

"Mary?" His voice was now laced with fear. She turned to face him before replying.

"I think I am still overly tired, and I'm in a slight bit of pain, but the courtiers all want a chance to speak with me. I mustn't neglect th-" Her voice reached a frenzied pitch before Francis interrupted.

"It is time for you to retire for the evening, Mary." She shook her head, resisting. He positioned his hands on her arms to steady her. "I won't allow you to deny me this request. I will inform your mother. She will take care of the courtiers."

He made his way to Marie, explaining Mary would take her leave to continue recovering. His mother-in-law was not happy with the arrangement, but something in Francis' demeanor took her aback and she relented.

Mary waited in the alcove and began to feel a bit light-headed. Francis found her leaning against the stone wall for support. Placing his arm behind her back, he helped her stand aright and they made their way slowly toward their rooms. _Something is terribly wrong_, he thought to himself. _She has never been this way before now. _

Upon their arrival, Francis sent a guard to summon the Court's resident physic. Once inside, he turned his attention to Mary, assisting her in removing her gown.

And it is then they both noticed the blood.


	9. NINE: Stages

**Author's Note**: I am so sorry for the amount of time between chapters for this one, particularly because I left chapter 8 on such a cruel cliffhanger. It wasn't my intention, but life took over (and family being in town, and work, and getting sick) and I wanted to do this chapter justice, so it took several days of writing when I could to finish it. It is a bit lengthy, but I do hope you enjoy. Perhaps it will help tide you over until next Thursday! Thanks to everyone for your reviews. I've enjoyed reading every one of them!

* * *

**NINE: Stages**

Francis remembered the rest of the evening as a series of fleeting images, each one blurring into the next: Trying to remain calm when requesting the guard to summon a physician; Blood; Mary's face as he helped her to the bed; Being forced from his own rooms, his wife disappearing behind the swiftly closing door; Watching the courtiers leave, their lanterns twinkling in the distance through the chapel windows.

Rising slowly, he lit his third candle of the evening and uttered a brief prayer. _Please let her be all right. Please, God! I'd give anything I have! _He turned and prepared to leave. _Surely they must be done by now_.

He arrived back at their rooms and took a deep breath before pushing open the door. The room was dark but he managed to make out the physic's form in a seat next to the fire. Walking over to join him, Francis sat opposite from him in a chair.

"I've been waiting for you to return," the physic began. "Her Grace fell asleep only a little while ago." The man paused, gauging whether Francis would say something or not. When he observed the king-consort simply staring off into the flames, weary and concerned, he chose to continue.

"The blood, while normal to this process, has not been caused by hemorrhage. I will continue to monitor her over the next few days to be sure no complications develop."

"What process?" Francis' words rang coldly into the room, his eyes finally looking up to meet the physician's.

"She has lost the child," the man replied simply, empathetically.

"It will take a few weeks to recover physically from the trauma, but she should recover fully in a physical sense. Few things can damage a woman more emotionally than such a happening. If you require me for anything, please do not hesitate to summon me." He rose, bowing to Francis as he moved toward the door. "I will leave you for tonight and will return in the morning to see if anything has altered in her condition. Good night, Your Grace."

Francis didn't know how long he sat there, staring at the fire, utterly stunned. The sound of movement and a slight whimper from their bed brought him out of his daze, and he made his way to his wife.

Silent tears coursed down her cheeks, her eyes no longer attempting to hide the pain she felt wracking its way though her body. He took hold of her hand, squeezing it lightly to assure her he was there with her, and he ran the fingers of his other hand through her hair, hoping it might help her return to sleep.

* * *

Mary awakened the next morning with Francis' head on the bed next to her. He had pulled a chair alongside so that he could know quickly if she were to need him. Sometime during the night, he had fallen asleep between the bed and the chair.

As she began to stir, Francis awakened as well, stretching to dispel the muscle strain from the odd angles at which he had slept. He saw her cringe at the sudden onset of pain, closing her eyes against its force, before she opened her eyes again to him.

"Can I get you anything, my love?" he asked groggily in a tone near a whisper.

"No," she spoke as softly, shaking her head. "There's nothing either of us can really do, is there?" Her eyes revealed to him his wife's haunted mind, suffering not only physically but in every emotional sense.

"Would you like me to send for your ladies? I know they are worried for you."

Her only response was to shake her head, indicating her answer was _no. _

"Are you sure, Mary?"

Her voice shuddered as it escaped her mouth, "It is too terrible to share, too shameful."

The choice of words took Francis aback. _Shameful? She's feeling ashamed over this?_

"Mary, you shouldn't feel shame. Don't blame yourself." His pleadings fell on ears that did not want to hear their message. Mary patted his hand lightly, almost patronizingly.

"No, Francis. I do blame myself, and so shame is a normal way to feel. You cannot persuade me otherwise." Another spasm of pain travelled through her body, sending her trembling. "Leave me be," she added forcibly through gritted teeth.

Sighing, Francis found himself grateful when a loud knock sounded at the door. Greeting one of their guards upon opening the door, he was met by a request to see his mother-in-law at once. Looking over his shoulder at Mary's still form, he told her to rest and that he would be back shortly. When she gave no response, he closed the door behind him and set out to find Marie.

* * *

Marie waited for her son-in-law, expecting that his arrival would come quickly on the heels of her summons. When her guard knocked and announced Francis was waiting, she opened the door to her chambers and welcomed him inside.

"Good morning, Francis," she said politely, offering him a seat for their discussion.

"Good morning, Marie," he returned wearily. He took a seat across from her.

Her tone quickly became curt. "How is Mary? I heard the physic was sent for last night after you left your own welcoming banquet."

Offense dripped from every word, spoken by a woman who expected her only daughter to perform as requested - even when that daughter was her mother's queen. Francis took a moment to prepare himself for what he assumed would be quite the discussion.

"Mary is recovering. The journey made her very ill and took most of her energy. She will require a few weeks to recuperate fully." He spoke clearly, realizing that Mary likely did not want her mother to know the true reason for her confinement.

"I do not like that my daughter has been ill for some time, Francis," Marie stated sharply. Her eyes narrowed into slits as she spoke, making known her inconvenient irritation. "She has work to do here and I do not like that her first few weeks will be a grand display of weakness. Besides, if she is always ill, how can she possibly bring forth an heir? Honestly, you would think this line was meant to die off."

His mother-in-law's words cut him swiftly to the heart, provoking a rising rage he had not possessed for some time. Standing up to help steady himself, he looked Marie in the eyes and spoke firmly.

"Your daughter is not weak." His protective anger caught Marie off of her guard, her hand flying to her cheek in surprise at his outburst.

"She will recover in the coming weeks. And you!" His fury mounting, he strove to finish their conversation before it escalated further. "You are never to put pressure on her to produce an heir. Do you understand me?" He looked to Marie. "Not one word," he hissed.

Francis stormed from the room, leaving his mother-in-law a very stunned woman.

* * *

The anger brought about by his talk with Mary's mother simmered underneath for several days. Each day, he would rise and speak with Marie about what needed to be done for Scotland and, each day, he would attempt to broach such topics with Mary. Unfortunately, Mary did not want to entertain matters of state and dismissed each one without consideration. One day, he had had enough.

"Mary, there are pressing matters that require attention. Scotland cannot be ruled by a queen who refuses to make decisions!" He knew his tone was harsh, and he winced as she railed back at him in retaliation.

"Honestly, Francis! Do you think I am unaware of that fact? I just lost a child, _our child! _I can't just simply get up and go about my daily life! The physic has yet to say I can be about my normal routine and, yet, here you are badgering me. Scotland must wait!"

She glanced behind at him from where she stood next to the window overlooking the river, just long enough to ensure he caught her glare.

"Scotland cannot wait any longer, Mary!" He pressed forward, fiercely attacking. "You have been away long enough - that's what you told me when we decided to return. This country needs a capable ruler." Exasperated, he threw his hands up and made a suggestion he suspected he would regret.

"Why not let me make decisions for a while, then? I was raised to be king. I understand these types of decisions. Someone can surely key me into the particulars of Scotland."

She turned to face him, an amused fury now taking root in her eyes.

"You?" She laughed jadedly. "You're going to run _my _country? Am I not capable enough for you? Is my present condition simply a display of my weakness as a woman? I have been queen since I was six days old! You have been king-consort - not even a king! - for mere months and you expect that you understand what it takes?"

Her scorn rose alongside her voice, and his hurt pride carried him further into their battle.

"Do you think I am incapable of leading a country well? I have been trained from the first to this very job, Mary! I am no ordinary king-consort! I thought we were in this together for the sake of _both_ Scotland and France. Am I wrong?"

He exhaled with this final blow, in time to see Mary's face crumble into sorrow. The reality with which his wife now grappled returned to him, and he stepped forward repentantly.

"Mary?" He tentatively reached for her, pulling her into his arms for the first time in days. "I am so sorry, Mary. So very sorry." He began palming circles into her back, hoping to soothe. "I just want to help. Please," he begged. "Please, let me help."

* * *

The next morning, Francis entered his mother-in-law's chambers bearing a letter from Mary. He handed it to her quietly, motioned that she should read it, and waited.

Marie granted him an odd look but proceeded to read the missive anyway. At its end, she paused before she began to ask questions.

"She desires to grant the Crown Matrimonial?"

Francis nodded a quick assent.

"To you?" Her gaze was icy.

"Yes," he replied. "As I am her legal husband and a king in my own right, she feels it is best if I legally be co-regnant of Scotland alongside her."

"And, while she recuperates, she would like you to care for her duties?"

"Yes, she does." Francis' words were calm, measured.

Marie sniffed, unsure of what to do when her plans did not work as she had hoped. "Very well, then." She thought for a moment. "Lord Darnley will help you in knowing the Scottish court. He is one of Mary's cousins."

"Very well, then. When shall I meet this Lord Darnley?" Francis inquired, satisfied that his mother-in-law had little fight in her after their previous confrontation.

"I will send for him at once and send for you once he arrives."

* * *

Their rooms were quiet upon his return from a long day with Lord Darnley. A fire crackled in the hearth and he spotted Mary seated by its side, reading her well-worn copy of Virgil. For a few moments, he stood just inside the door - captured by his wife in her beauty.

"There's a letter that arrived for you on the desk." Her words broke his reverie and he shook his head to clear it.

"I will read it tomorrow. Tonight, I am only yours. Did you see your ladies today?"

Her head bobbed as she marked her place in the book and set it down on a nearby table.

"I did. It was time they knew." Her voice shook a little, the exhaustion from the day's social efforts evident. "They all cried with me for some time. It was nice to have them with me again," she said shyly. "How was your day with Henry?"

"Ah, Henry Stuart, _the_ Lord Darnley. It was ... dull. I have very little desire to discuss such things tonight." He took in his wife's simple appearance, all pretense of French Court fashions gone as she found herself confined to her rooms.

He sidled over to her, offering her his hand and helping her rise from her chair. Walking toward the bed, he grinned and began chattering to lighten their always-somber moods.

"I recall a day, shortly after you returned to the French Court, when you wore that exact dress. I was furious with you, naturally, for your return shifted everything and I didn't quite know what to do with myself. Yet, in all your regality, you wore this simple dress and I could barely breathe." He lifted her onto the bed.

"It took everything I had to walk away from you that day with all your talk about being just a girl and just a boy." Their eyes locked and her breath hitched. "Absolutely everything. I am so grateful that walking away is no longer an option."

He kissed her firmly, soundly, for the first time in weeks. Mary was the first to pull back, a look of deep shame on her face.

"What is it, wife?" They both breathed heavily in the stillness.

Her eyes barely met his before finding their way down once more, her voice cracking with unguarded emotion as she spoke.

"How can you still want me? I am in ruin. I should have postponed our return to Scotland. I didn't care for myself and our child as I should have and now ... "

He lifted her chin so her eyes would have no choice but to meet his.

"You cannot hold that as your burden, Mary. Of course I still want you. I want you _desperately_. I will want you desperately whether or not we ever have children of our own. It is hard to breathe when I look at you. You are beautiful, my love, and you are mine."

Relenting, she leaned into him as he brought himself down on top of her body, accepting his kisses and the love they brought with them.

And something small began to heal.


	10. TEN: Shift

**Author's Note**: I'm playing pretty fast and loose with history here, particularly with several members of the Scottish Court for the sake of plot. We can't change that the real Francis died tragically because he was never really well and never made it back to Scotland with Mary. I can, however, imagine a different ending altogether to their story, so I've put into play some of the same people who were around for Mary's return and have attempted to build on some of the religious tension that made up the context for the time. (Does any of that make sense? It's late and this weekend has been long!) Regardless, I hope you enjoy the chapter. Only two more to go! Aren't you excited to see how it all ends? ;) Thanks for the reviews and Thanksgiving well-wishes - More than 50 reviews and 110 followers, and I still love seeing my review notifications!

**Credit**: A lot of my history has come from the first few chapters of Alison Weir's _Mary, Queen of Scots, and the Murder of Lord Darnley_. It is a thick read, but is really well-written and I'm excited to dig a little further into it.

* * *

**TEN: Shift  
**

A sliver of sunlight slipped through the drawn window coverings and woke Francis the next morning. He awakened, but he found he could not move for fear of rousing his sleeping wife. She was sprawled all over him, arm flung across his middle, ankle entwined with his leg, head resting on his shoulder. Freeing one arm, he traced with his finger the one simple ring she wore, reflecting on how he had been so afraid of the possibility of marrying this woman who now shared his bed and his life.

_How I ever thought she could be anything but mine - that I could be anything but hers - is unfathomable. _He smiled, grateful for her presence and her small frame pressed up against his own.

It was one of those quiet mornings in a marriage, a moment of subtle comfort that marks the marriages of those who truly love one another. He had no desire to move, thoroughly enjoying the first look of peace he had seen grace his wife's face in weeks.

Mary, however, began to stir ever so slowly, stretching each muscle and elongating her back in a catlike manner. She opened her eyes to find Francis staring at her, blushed and quickly buried her head beneath the bedcovers. He fished her out, laughing at the newness that still characterized their union.

"Good morning, wife," he spoke, his smile wide. "Can I interest you in staying here for a bit?"

Her response was to curl back into his side, weaving her fingers into his.

"How are you feeling today, my love?" he inquired hesitantly.

She sighed, nestling further into him. "For the first time, today does not seem so terrible."

He released his held breath and dropped a kiss onto the top of her head. "I am glad to hear that, Mary. So very glad."

* * *

Francis prepared to enter Court for the day and to meet with Lord Darnley. On the way out of his and Mary's rooms, he remembered the letter Mary had mentioned the night before. He snatched it from its place upon the desk and hurried to the castle's library, hoping to take advantage of the time before others expected him elsewhere.

Sitting down, he flipped the letter over in his hand and spied the Medici seal of his mother. Unsure of what to expect, he carefully broke the seal and unfolded the parchment.

"To my dear son, Francis, in care of the Scottish Court at Weymuss Castle -

"We have had word of your safe arrival in Scotland and hope all is well for you and Mary as you settle into your new roles. Little has happened since your departure, though your brother, Charles, has taken ill. He has been seeing things that are not there and we cannot but hope he will recover his sanity of mind."

He scanned the remainder of the first page, taking in bits of gossip from the Court and news of his father. His pace slowed considerably, however, upon reaching the last two sections of the letter.

"I am aware you know of the visions Nostradamus has seen in your regard. There are few ways to convey how sorry I am for the way in which I treated Mary, whom I know you love dearly. Nostradamus has had another vision, one which granted more understanding. He says he saw that your union with Mary would result in death through your line, rather than your death. Though I have behaved horridly, I ask for your forgiveness. I have only ever sought what is best for you.

"Nostradamus also shared of Mary's condition when you left. It is our sincere hope that she and your child are well but, in the case that they are not and something has happened, I do trust that your love for one another will help you withstand the pain. I, too, have lost children from my womb and I do not wish that heartache on anyone, especially the beautiful and kind wife of my favorite son. If it is as Nostradamus predicted, that she has lost the child, do not lose hope. You will be a great father someday, and a great king.

I miss you deeply, my son. Send word soon. -Mother"

Francis swiped at the wetness that appeared on his cheeks while reading his mother's words. He had been so focused on being sure of Mary's well-being that he had neglected his own sorrow. He had to mourn in his own way, ever so briefly, before embarking on the day's affairs.

* * *

The next six weeks passed uneventfully, Francis growing well into his role as King of Scotland. The Crown Matrimonial had been opposed by only a handful of the peerage, the general public rejoicing over a capable and refined king for the first time since Mary's father's death. He made decisions for the benefit of the people, arranging new trade deals and securing stronger borders to prevent the English invasions that marked much of the last ten years. Easily garnering favor with the Catholic nobility, he found the Protestant nobility eager to submit to a male monarch, especially as his father's troops could crush any uprising without hesitation.

Mary found herself with freedom for the first time in her life as Francis skillfully governed Scotland into an age of religious tolerance and prosperity. She and her ladies wandered through the West Weymuss marketplace daily, dawdling among the vendors and scouring their wares - looking for any imaginable item that might make the castle a bit more homey and less cold. And, every day, she would stop at the village kirk to light a candle and pray in hope of another child. It became her only means of escaping her sadness, which still followed her wherever she went.

The two settled into a richly layered rhythm in their new home. Francis would appear in the evenings after his day's work and they would walk outside in the gardens, bundled against the cold but reveling once more in the tradition begun before they wed. He would discuss the day, including matters of state, hoping Mary would not be caught off-guard by any of his decisions. She would reiterate her full trust in him to lead Scotland and her respect for any decisions made in the temporary absence from her duties, but Francis still took into account every bit of opinion she proffered.

Supper would be served and enjoyed and often followed by Court events. Mary, though still mostly detached from Scotland, came to know each of the courtiers in turn. She thoroughly enjoyed watching Francis stand a little taller as he was announced and entered a room. _He was born to be king_, she told herself as she saw the admiration of the peerage and how he conducted himself with them. _How wonderful it is not to have to do this alone._

At the end of each evening, they would retire to their rooms to read and talk for a spell before they slept. Night by night, Mary's joy in life returned.

* * *

One evening, Francis arrived to find Mary asleep on a couch near the fire, her father's plaid spread over her body. Tempted to wake her for their nightly walk, he opted to let her rest instead. He picked up a book and sat down to read in the firelight.

He had not been seated for long when a light rap sounded at the door. Glancing over to Mary, who hadn't wakened, he hurried to the door before the caller could knock again.

Opening the door, he found Leith, the kitchen boy from the French Court they had brought with them to Scotland. Leith appeared nervous, shifting his gaze up and down the corridor to ensure no one was around to see him at the rooms of the king and queen.

"Your Grace, I must speak with you, but we must speak somewhere safe. It's important." Francis sensed the earnestness in Leith's voice, but gave warning before he motioned him into his and Mary's rooms.

"All right, then. I suppose we can talk in here, but Mary is sleeping, so please be careful not to disturb her. We must speak quietly."

Leith nodded in silent agreement to the terms and Francis stepped aside to let him pass into the room.

The door shut and an eerie quiet settled. The two young men faced one another, each hoping the other would speak first. When Leith failed to say anything, his mouth shut with fear, Francis gave an exasperated sigh and demanded information.

"Well, Leith, what is it?"

Leith fidgeted and steeled his body. "I am so sorry, Your Grace. I ... I ... " He stammered a bit, trying to relocate the words he had rehearsed in his head. "I overheard a conversation between persons of the peerage, plotting an uprising of the Protestant faction in hopes that you and Mary might be removed from the throne. They plan to strike in three days, laying siege to the castle and taking you prisoner." Leith finished, his shoulders drooping defeatedly.

Francis' mind reeled with this information, attempting to gather his own thoughts while he stood there with this young man who had proven himself loyal to both France and to Scotland. As he grappled to find words, he heard the couch creak behind him. _How much did she hear?_ he wondered. He did not have long to wait.

"Do you know who you overheard?" came Mary's voice, strong but trembling ever so slightly.

Leith's head nodded, terror flooding his eyes.

"Well, then, who was it?" Francis turned to face Mary as she spoke before looking back to Leith.

The kitchen boy gulped, his whisper barely audible. "It was your cousin, Your Grace - the Lord Darnley - and the Lord Lindsay."

Francis heard his wife's voice grow cold as she drew nearer to the two men, asserting her queenly nature for the first time since her arrival in Scotland. "Then we must find them, mustn't we?"


	11. ELEVEN: Tremors

**Author's Note**: It's been a long few days, I assure you (and then some). Then, tonight, I caved and watched the new episode when it leaked online and everything I wrote seems pale in comparison to the beauty that is 1x07 ... Regardless, here's the second-to-last chapter. I'm not sure what I think yet, but I do hope you like it!

* * *

**ELEVEN: Tremors**

Francis paced inside the council room. _How could two men manage to disappear so entirely? _he asked himself. Companies had scoured the countryside and cities for days, and no sign of Darnley or Lindsay could be found. At his side, Mary stood calmly by, once more queen in action as well as in truth.

"Your Grace," Lord Seton stepped forward. "The castle has been made secure with additional companies of men. Should we be attacked, we will be ready."

The man bowed and stepped back quietly.

"Where else could they be hiding?" inquired Mary of their privy council. "Have you checked the confiscated Lennox family holdings?"

"No, Your Grace," spoke Lord Fleming. "We assumed they were occupied by new residents, but I now see how foolish it was to overlook it as a possibility. Please forgive me, Your Grace. I will see to it that men are immediately sent to investigate the Lennox properties."

Fleming bowed and took his leave of the council chamber.

"That will be all for today." Francis dismissed them, knowing they would all be summoned once more when new information was unearthed.

Once the council had left, Francis turned to his wife and offered her his arm. "Shall we return to our rooms, then?"

"Why, of course," she replied as they began to wander toward the tower. "Did you have anything in mind for our afternoon?"

Francis smirked. _Of course I have something in mind_.

* * *

Mere moments after arriving at their rooms, Francis had his wife pushed against a wall. "We must find another arrangement if I am to see you be queen again." He kissed her fiercely before moving to her neck, smiling to himself as a contented sigh escaped her lips. "I just," kiss. "Can't," kiss. "Handle it." Pinned, she managed a non-effective retort before her mind relaxed and all her will turned to liquid.

"Well, I _am_ queen_._"

He silenced her with a second round of fervor, bending ever so slightly to snatch her feet from the ground and lift her into his arms. He had begun to travel toward their bed when a rap sounded on the door.

Groaning deeply, he dropped Mary onto the bed and a kiss onto her forehead. "Don't forget that thought."

He crossed back to the door and opened it enough to speak with their guard. "Yes?" He asked tersely, despising that he and his wife had been interrupted at a most inopportune moment.

Sensing the king's irritation, the guard became nervous, uttering simply that the Lord Fleming had returned and requested an audience with him concerning the missing lords. Running a hand of frustration over his face, Francis assented. "Of course. I will meet him in the council chamber shortly."

Shutting the door behind him, Francis returned to Mary's side. "I suppose that thought will have to wait?" she teased, though he sensed her disappointment was likely akin to his own.

"Yes, it will have to wait. Would you like to join us?" he asked.

"No, thank you. Though the man certainly tries and is very loyal, Lord Fleming doesn't seem to be very effective, and I'd rather stay here and rest. This morning was quite stressful. Besides, you are more than capable of handling it on your own, _Your Grace_, and I wouldn't want you to be distracted by my queenly nature." She harassed him mercilessly, laughter in her eyes.

"You make fun, do you? I'll have you know that wanting my wife is no crime, especially when she is a beautiful woman who just happens to exert authority in attractive ways." He knew he had her at this response - Mary's lack of words spoke loudly. _How can he still have this effect on me? _she wondered.

"I will return to make you pay. _Later_." His voice was laced with mirth. "Stay. Rest."

* * *

He returned hours later to find her fast asleep. Dread filled him at what news he had to share.

"Mary," he nudged her. "Mary, my love. It's time to wake." Another nudge, with a slight groan rising from his previously slumbering wife. "Mary, come on. We've had news."

She sat up slowly, rubbing the drowsiness from of her face with her hands. "News? What is it?" she spoke gently, the question rolling off her tongue with a little more Scot in it than normal.

"Well," his breath was deep. "Lord Fleming has received word that your cousin and Lindsay have been located."

"And where are they?" Her words quiet, filled with unease she dared not show anyone else.

"They have escaped to England." She gasped, her eyes wide and filling with fear. "Your cousin Elizabeth has granted them sanctuary."

She closed her eyes, grappling with the news. "Will we ever be safe? Elizabeth wants my head!"

Francis sensed her agitation rising and moved to snatch her hands from her face. They were trembling.

"We cannot get to them, it is true. I do believe, however, that we are safe. Elizabeth knows better than to parry with a king whose father rules over France." Francis took her face in his hands, thumbing circles on her cheek as he was wont to do. "Please do not worry, Mary. You are safe. I won't let anything happen to you."

"How can you be certain?" Apparently, she hadn't finished her anxious ranting. "How can you be-"

He cut her off with a kiss. "That's enough, Mary. Trust me."

His arms enveloped her firmly, her shaking slowly subsiding.

"I need you." Her need was evident in her voice, and he quickly climbed into the bed hoping to meet it. The light, teasing thoughts of the earlier hours were passed over for something much deeper, more fervid. It called upon Francis' senses of both love and duty to show his wife that she was safe and had nothing to fear.

* * *

"I'm afraid I have forgotten my ... um, my ..."

Flustered, Mary looked about her in the corridor - trying to determine what it was she had forgotten. "I know I forgot something! Now what is it?" She turned back toward the tower.

Francis passed her as she returned, holding a cloak out on a single finger.

"Missing this?" He gibed, holding it out for her.

"As a matter of fact, I am." She snatched the garment, a bit haughty. "Thank you."

"I assumed you would need it as you told me you were going for a walk." He paused. "_Outside_."

"I simply forgot it, that's all, and was returning to retrieve it." Slightly offended, she spun on her heel to head out of the castle. He was faster, however, and caught her arm, spinning her to face him. A worried look now graced his features.

"Mary, are you all right? You seem to be forgetting a lot of things lately and your emotions seem a bit ... " He tried to choose his word carefully as his wife arched her eyebrow, "Mercurial."

Her defenses went down with the concern on his face, brushing over the bit about her emotions being unpredictable. "I think so. I mean, I still haven't ... since ... Nothing has returned to normal, that is. It's been two months. Should I be worried?"

He shook his head, unsure of what to say without giving her false hope. "I don't know, my love," he began. "But you should go for your walk. I'll summon the physic to meet with you when you return. Perhaps he will have answers to your questions."

She looked at him hesitantly, questioning whether or not the physic was necessary, but he knew her too well. To reassure her, he added conviction to his words, "Go for your walk, Mary. I will be here when you return."

* * *

"How is that possible?" Mary nearly shouted at the physic, barely restraining herself.

"Many women find themselves as you now are, Your Grace. It often happens easily after one loses a child." The man was patient, waiting for her to absorb what he had told her.

"But _how_ is that possible?" Her teeth grit out the words. "It's not even the same! How can it be that I am once more with child? There have been no signs!" She paced the room, frantically waving her hands in exasperation. _Could it truly be possible?_ she wondered.

"The signs are rarely the same twice, Your Grace." Such a kind, tolerant man.

_I'm so grateful he's not prone to fits of visions_, thought Mary. For whatever reason, the thought calmed her.

"Yes, of course. Thank you for your time, sir." She offered as he bowed and left the room, Francis making his way in at the physic's exit.

"Is everything all right? I heard your voice through the door!" Concern was written in every wrinkle of his eyes.

"Everything is fine," she sighed as she sat down on the couch. He realized as he sat next to her that she appeared stunned, taken aback by whatever the physician had told her.

Taking her hand, he asked gently, "Mary, what is it? Tell me, please."

She turned her face to meet his, tears pooling in her eyes. "He told me ... " A confused expression came across her face as she continued. "He told me he believes I am again with child. My courses never returned." She took a breath, incredulous. "They didn't and I've been moody and flighty and ... he thinks we will have a child before Christmas." She looked up to meet his eyes, registering his shock alongside her own.

Then, her distress returned, tears finally spilling over onto her cheeks. "What if it ends the same, Francis? What if-"

"It won't, Mary," he shook his head. "It won't," he quietly reassured her.

They sat for a while, basking in the revelations of the day. He drew her into his side and she rested her head on his shoulder. A long time passed before more words were spoken by either.

"You do realize that you must be sole acting regent for a spell, don't you?" The teasing lilt missing from the past few days had returned, baiting him. "Certainly, _Your Grace_, you can't expect me to rule from a bed while I birth a child now."

"I suppose I could agree to that, Mary, Queen of Scotland, but I have one condition that includes a bed for entirely different purposes."

"Very well, then. State your terms." Her impish smile was met by his laying her down on the couch and beginning to set kisses upon her collarbone.

"These terms," he muttered as his mouth tore itself away to start in on hers, grinning at the beautiful woman under him before returning to his work.


	12. TWELVE: Home

**Author's Note**: A special thank you to all of you who have made this journey with me. It has been a joy to write for you and to know you have enjoyed reading what I've written. This tale has now come to its end, though perhaps it will warrant a sequel in time. I intend to return to shorter pieces (continuity across so many chapters is difficult!) that are more rooted in what is happening on the show. If anyone has ideas over the hiatus for something you would like to read, PM me. I make no guarantees but an idea might take root and bloom into a great fic.

**Warning**: This last chapter is quite fluffy. I felt it was the only way to end it and, so, I do hope you enjoy it! Also, I took the liberty of making up a last name for one of the characters. Hopefully, you won't mind. :)

* * *

**TWELVE: Home**

The months slipped by, spring into summer and summer into autumn, and the physic's suspicions were confirmed by Mary's swelling abdomen. She and Francis placed bets with one another regarding the child's gender and arrival. Letters galloped back and forth between France and Scotland in anticipation of the event.

And, as the trees began to lose their leaves in preparation for winter, Mary found herself confined to their rooms. She had been instructed to lay in bed all day and to keep out the sunlight, both old superstitions she was not keen to follow in spite of her midwives' protests.

Francis kept her abreast of any political developments, though little was happening at the time. At the knowledge that Mary's line would continue in conjunction with that of France, Elizabeth had ceased open attempts to attack Scotland and the Scots had settled well into having both king and queen once more. When time allowed, Francis found himself with Mary, reading to her from the castle's extensive collection of books and sneaking in games, food, and whatever Mary's heart desired.

As the sun began to rise in the early hours of a bleak November day, Francis remained in the corridor outside their door, exiled while his wife labored. His back to the wall, he had long been seated, his joints stiff. There had been no sleep that night for him. Mary's screams finally abated and he then heard a healthy cry cut through the new quiet.

The cries ceased and the door creaked open. Aylee stood on the other side, a tired grin on her face. Francis rose, wringing his hands a bit.

"She's just fine, Francis." She noted as the worry relaxed in his eyes. "And so is your son."

Francis staggered back to the wall, suddenly needing it to support his weight. The stress of the last days and the reality of having a child of his own overcame him and his eyes began to water ever-so-slightly. _We have a son!_

"May I see them?" He inquired hesitantly, unsure of the protocol as a new father. Aylee stepped aside, nodding.

"Of course. They have just finished the necessary cleaning."

Francis walked into the room, which was still mostly dark. The window coverings had at last been pulled back to welcome the new child's first day.

Women bustled about, preparing sheets and bed clothes to be taken for laundering, boiling water in the fireplace, and catering to Mary's every need, but Francis only saw her in the midst of all the activity. She had been propped up in the bed, long dark tresses tied back and still damp from her exertion, and wrapped in one of her favorite dressing gowns.

He approached and she lifted her face to meet his, a small smile tugging at the corners of her mouth. She lifted a finger to her lips and pointed to the cradle that had been pulled alongside the bed, the cradle that had been a gift from Francis' parents. Inside, a small pink creature had been thoroughly swaddled and interred. Francis crouched down to see the small boy, exhaling deeply every anxiety and fear he had carried for many months.

Seeing how transfixed he was by the tiny sleeper, Mary rested her hand on his shoulder.

He turned to look up at her, taking in the obvious exhaustion coupled with something he couldn't quite yet name. Peace, mixed with elation and contentedness.

"Mary ... " His voice caught as he took her in, cracking with unexpressed emotion. He rose and seated himself next to her on the bed. She merely took his hand into hers.

"I know," she whispered, her entire countenance shining through her smile. "I know."

* * *

"How is the progress coming regarding the confiscation of Lord Lindsay's holdings?" Mary wasted no time in questioning her husband as he returned from a meeting in the council chamber.

"Just one moment and I will freely answer any question you ask. For now," he bent to kiss her and to take their son from her arms. "For now, I would like to see how my son is doing."

Mary handed over the child, drinking in her husband in his role as father. After how little parenting either of them had really had, how little love shown to them in their growing years, they had worried over their ability to have and love their own children. They needn't have wasted their time, as both fell in love quickly with little James Henry and instinct took over just as quickly.

"Francis?" Mary tried to attract his attention once more. "Lord Lindsay's holdings?"

He glanced up and let loose a low chuckle at her impatience. "Yes, they have been confiscated. His family has relocated to England voluntarily and seems to have no desire to return."

"Excellent." Her excitement was palpable. "When can we grant his title and holdings to another?"

Francis loved his wife's heart, especially as they had conspired on this particular plan together. He grinned as he responded, "As soon as you would like, my love."

* * *

Greer assisted Mary in setting her hair for the evening. As Mary had finally been allowed to rejoin the Court, a banquet was being held in her and James' honor. The latter would not be in attendance himself and would be carefully watched as he slept by Aylee and Kenna. Lola and Greer would attend to Mary at the festivities.

Mary's gaze drifted to the cradle where James slept and her heart clenched. "Greer, I can't possibly leave him! What could I have been thinking, agreeing to such an event so soon?"

Greer smiled knowingly, reassuring her queen that all would be well. "Aylee and Kenna will take good care of James," she said. "And, should anything happen, one of them will send for you at once. You will only be downstairs, Mary, enjoying a well-earned evening with your husband."

"Yes, of course," sighed Mary. "I am just being silly, that's all."

The door opened and Francis entered. Greer curtsied and quit the room, citing her own need to get dressed for the evening. Francis offered Mary his hand and helped her rise from her seat. He looked over his wife, adorned in regal garments for the first time in months, her crown perched upon her head.

"You are beautiful, wife." He saw a flush appear on the apples of her cheeks. He took her face gently into his hands and pressed a kiss to her lips. "I am certainly a fortunate man, to have so many blessings bestowed upon my life."

A knock sounded at the door and Aylee and Kenna entered, knowing they were expected. Francis offered Mary his arm, asking, "Shall we?"

Nodding, Mary lifted her skirts with one hand and slipped her other through his arm.

"We shall." Turning to the waiting ladies, she added, "Please do not hesitate to let me know if James needs me."

"We won't," assured Aylee, smiling. "Go. Enjoy your evening. Give Greer the surprise of a lifetime."

* * *

They entered the hall and were greeted by courtiers eager to celebrate the birth of a new prince and the re-emergence of their charming queen. The meal finished, Francis stood to address those gathered.

"Our dear family, friends, and most trusted advisors, we thank you for coming to celebrate the birth of our son, James Henry, Crown Prince of Scotland. We are thrilled at his arrival. There is another matter to celebrate, however. It pleases my wife and I to inform you that the Lindsay family has successfully been removed to England."

Silence sat all around, everyone holding his or her breath to see what would become of this most unusual announcement rooted in a family's treason. Francis looked to Mary, a twinkle in his eye to match that in her own. She nodded.

"It is my great pleasure to announce that we have decided to grant the Lindsay family holdings and lordship to someone who has displayed incredible bravery, courage and loyalty to both the Scottish and French crowns. This young man took upon himself the responsibility of warning us of Darnley and Lindsay's plot, a plot that likely would have taken our throne and our lives. I present to you the first lord of his name, Leith of Docherty."

Clapping broke out as Leith came from the side. Mary had been watching Greer all the while Francis had been speaking. The shock registered openly on her face, overjoy creeping into every feature.

"Now, let us continue with our celebration. I, for one, am eager to dance with my wife. Please join us!" Francis concluded his small speech by raising a goblet of wine.

He collected his wife from her seat and guided her toward the floor as the musicians began to play. They both noticed as Greer slipped over to Leith. Mary's sole untitled lady still believed, after all this time, that no one had discovered her relationship with the kitchen boy. Francis and Mary both laughed, excited for the details to play out. Leith had been told earlier in the day and commanded not to tell Greer, but that hadn't stopped him from immediately dispatching a letter to her family asking for her hand in marriage.

"You seem very pleased with yourself." Mary felt Francis smile as he whispered into her ear. His breath fell on her neck, causing her to shiver. _How long has it been since I last enjoyed my husband?_ she asked herself, feeling desire for him emerge.

They danced and spoke with courtiers and friends, enjoying the first of many celebrations that would mark the season, as Christmas would soon be upon them. Too soon, however, Francis noticed Mary tire and her longing to be returned to the sleeping babe upstairs. He excused them from their conversation with Lord Fleming and led her back to their rooms.

Inside, Aylee and Kenna were reading by the fireplace, James still safely tucked away in his cradle. Only the ladies' eagerness to know how the evening had gone broke the room's hush.

They left soon after hearing the details of Leith's pronouncement and Greer's shock. Mary wandered over to check on James, knowing he would wake soon and demand to be fed. She snatched the nightgown Aylee had set out for her on a chair and began her attempts to ready herself for bed. The crown came off easily enough, but she struggled to loosen the corset, as it was the first she had worn in many months.

About to give up in frustration, Francis came up behind her and began to loosen the laces. "Let me help you with that, my love."

She savored the brush of his hands against her back and then relished her release from the form-preserving device. He assisted her in pulling her dress over her head and in replacing it with the nightgown.

"Better?" he asked, receiving one of her quiet nods in reply. He remove his jacket and began to prepare himself for bed, knowing they would try to sleep after James had eaten, for as long as the little one would let them. Mary had refused a wet nurse, at least for the time being, choosing instead to experience motherhood fully in all of its joys and fatigues.

James began to whimper and Mary crossed over to gather him into her arms. As the babe hungrily settled in to suck at his mother's breast, Mary turned to Francis.

"The evening was wonderful," she said softly. "But there is no other place I'd rather be than right here with my two favorite men."

He placed a kiss on her cheek and sat at her side, opening a letter that had just arrived from France replete with the Medici seal. Scanning it quickly, he relayed its contents to Mary.

"It looks as if we will have guests for Christmas. My mother intends to come and meet her grandson and Bash will accompany her for her protection and, I suspect, with the hope of spending some time with the lady Lola. From his last letter, I gather they have been corresponding since we left and he seems quite smitten. My mother writes that they will stay for an extended visit."

Mary laughed at this bit of news, particularly at the thought of Catherine and Bash traveling together, but also excited to share their son with Francis' family. She sighed happily. "I am glad that they are coming. It will be wonderful to have your family in our home for a season."

"It most certainly will be, Mary. I look forward to seeing them, but may I tell you something else?"

"You may ... " Mary agreed, though she seemed a bit wary at the tone in her husband's voice.

"I," Francis began, his face earnest. "I am so very much in love with you, wife." He leaned over to kiss her nose. "Thank you for the amazing privilege of finding a home with you."

James began to fuss a bit, his feeding finished, at which Francis chuckled and took him from Mary. "And you as well, little James. You as well."

He walked the infant over to the cradle, knowing the boy would return quickly to his slumber. Mary had moved to the bed and he joined her there, pulling back the covers long enough to help her into them. He climbed in and brought her body flush against his own.

"I am serious, Mary, when I say it is an honor to be at your side, to have a home with you. It is more than I ever thought I would have."

She sighed and snuggled more deeply into his arms, absorbing the warmth of his body. "It is only a home because you are here, Francis."

And they slept swiftly and peacefully, at least for a few hours.


End file.
